the Chickadee had left him.

"It's a pretty name," said Peter. "Yes, Sir, it's a pretty name. It's
the prettiest name I've ever heard. I wonder if she is just as pretty.
I--I--think she must be. Yes, I am quite sure she must be." Peter was
thinking of the soft, gentle eyes he had seen peeping at him from behind
the big fern, and of the dainty little footprint he had found there
afterward. So he sat on the sunning-bank, dreaming pleasant dreams and
wondering if he could find little Miss Fuzzytail if he should go look
for her.

Now all the time, although Peter didn't know it, little Miss Fuzzytail
was very close by. She was right back in her old hiding-place behind the
big fern, shyly peeping out at him from under a great leaf, where she
was sure he wouldn't see her. She saw the long tears in Peter's coat,
made by the cruel claws of Hooty the Owl, and she saw the places where
her father, Old Jed Thumper, had pulled the hair out with his teeth. She
saw how thin and miserable Peter looked, and tears of pity filled the
soft, gentle eyes of little Miss Fuzzytail, for, you see, she had a very
tender heart.

"He's got a very nice face," thought Miss Fuzzytail, "and he certainly
was very polite, and I do love good manners. And Peter is such a nice
sounding name! It sounds so honest and good and true. Poor fellow! Poor
Peter Rabbit!" Here little Miss Fuzzytail wiped her eyes. "He looks so
miserable I do wish I could do something for him. I--I--oh, dear, I do
believe he is coming right over here! I guess I better be going. How he
limps!"

Once more the tears filled her soft, gentle eyes as she stole away,